Conquests: Hearts Rule Kingdoms (18 page)

“Avis!”

Melville’s deep voice rang out across the hall, and Avis jerked to attention. She opened her eyes, and saw her husband striding towards her from the opposite end of the hall. She rose, but he paid little attention to her.

“Robert.”

Melville’s man stood immediately and rushed to his master’s side. Frantic orders were issued from him to many others, and Avis could not but help admire the way that every man accorded Melville with such respect. It was clear that before she had even met him, he had earned that respect, and had never acted in a manner to lose it. She regarded him; saw the way that he held himself, strong and determined. She smiled.

Robert nodded, and strode away, with several men and the stable boy Felix following him. Edith watched them go, and began talking quietly with her neighbour.

Melville continued up the hall towards Avis, and with a heavy sigh sunk into the seat next to her.

“Wine, my lord?” Avis offered timidly. She had not forgotten the angry manner in which they had last spoken, nor the abrupt way that he had left her. She certainly did not want to rile his temper once more.

Melville finally looked upon her, and his wild gaze softened. He saw Avis’ slightly fearful look, and internally berated himself. Every step forward was followed by a push back it seems, and always due to his temper.

“I thank you,” he replied uncomfortably.

Avis poured the wine, and the two of them ate in silence, until Avis could hold her tongue no longer.

“My lord.”

Melville pointedly ignored her, until she spoke with a slight smile.

“Melville.”

With a much broader smile her husband turned to her.

“Yes, Avis?”

Avis nudged him playfully, and then continued with a more sombre expression.

“We must decide what is to be done.”

Melville’s face dropped. “I agree. But this is not the place in which to have that conversation.”

“Later then?” Avis pushed. “Despite my actions today, I…I don’t want you to keep me out of this decision. This is our land, and our people.”

“And our lives,” Melville reminded her. “We are in just as much danger as all of them.”

He gestured around the room, and passed some more food up to his mouth. He chewed contemplatively, and then spoke again, very quietly.

“What would you do?”

Avis was stunned. She had never been asked such a question of such responsibility before, and she had not expected Melville to value her ideas so highly.

“I had not perfectly considered,” she replied awkwardly. Avis did not want to venture her thoughts quite yet. At least, not until she had considered everything properly.

Melville nodded appreciatively. Here then was a woman that did not speak without due thought.

“I am glad of it.” He spoke aloud unconsciously, picking at a pastry pie with his knife and not eating.

“Hmmm?” Avis probed, swirling her wine in her goblet.

“I am merely impressed that you do not offer an opinion without thought.” Melville confessed. “It is not a female quality that I usually discover.”

Avis laughed, and her elegance caused many to glance her way admiringly. Melville could not help but smile at seeing her so happy. But then Avis’ smile disappeared when she remembered what they were talking about.

Melville noticed her uneasiness, and took her hand in his.

“Would you rather retire?” He asked her. “We can have food brought to another chamber, and we can openly discuss everything there.”

His eyes glanced around the room, which was filled with those longing to know what conversation was holding their attention so fully.

Avis nodded her assent, and Melville gave orders to the waiting servant. Within moments they were alone in Avis’ private chamber, surrounded by food and in front of a warm fire. The servant had created a picnic similar to their luncheon before the hearth, and Melville and Avis sat with their backs to a trestle facing the warmth of the fire.

“So,” Avis began, “how much time do we have?”

Melville flinched at the harshness in her tones.

“Must you be so direct?” He asked her, picking up an apple and cutting it in half.

“Better to be prepared, is it not?”

Melville nodded, and handed her half of the apple.

“You are right.” He cast his mind back to his time at William’s court, and tried to estimate how long it would take them to move this far.

Avis watched Melville think, and marvelled at the handsome face so troubled. In all of the turmoil of their marriage, she had almost forgotten that Melville was an incredibly attractive man. She remembered the kind teasing she had received from the kitchen staff, and blushed. Hoping that he hadn’t noticed, she looked him up and down. His greatest asset, she decided, was his humility. With his muscles and his power, he could easily overpower many that he spoke to. But he was tender with those that were loyal to him, and though abrupt with others, it was not from a place of rudeness but of discomposure. Avis thought about their conversation the night before. Melville had not been raised for this sort of life. She had been taught how to speak to servants; how to command a room; how to dress for particular company. These skills were normal to her, and yet alien to him. Perhaps it was wrong for her to expect him to be so at ease in all of the situations that she was. It was here, in times of fear and battle, that he was in his element, and could offer her assistance and aid. This was his territory.

A spark crackled in the fire, causing them to jump. Melville reached for another leg of chicken.

“I believe it will be no longer than a week before William and his army are here,” he confessed to Avis as he ate. “William is known for his speed across ground, and we are one of the earliest places he will reach. Even with a large army, it will not be long.”

Avis nodded. “And is there anyone that will help us?”

Melville considered aloud.

“Hugh le Blanc was planning to return to Flanders when he left us. Many of the new Norman lords in this area are no friend to me because of my background – something that I have somehow managed to have kept hidden from William. I know that few Anglo-Saxon lords remain here at all.”

He turned shyly to Avis, uncomfortable at the question he was about to ask, but he knew it had to be done.

“Do you know of any Anglo-Saxon noblemen in hiding here?”

Avis had known that the question had been coming, and could only wish that she could give a different answer. She shook her head, brushing the bread crumbs off her lap.

“None. My cousin in Ireland is too far from here. My uncle was the only kin I had this far north, and I am not child enough to think that he survived.”

Melville shifted his body weight to move slightly closer to his wife. At first she stayed stock still, unwilling to accept this infringement into her personal space, but his reassuring presence was something that she had longed for ever since he had ridden off without her. Avis slowly leaned into him, and he took her slight weight.

“And so what is to be done?” She asked.

“We have two options.” Melville thought aloud. “Wait. Run.”

Avis was shocked at how little hope he had.

“That is all?”

“What do you expect from me?” Melville replied testily. “I have no army. My men are not nearly enough to fight the horde that will come with William. Even if every woman and child were given arms, it would not be enough. Either we continue as if nothing has happened, and beg for the King’s mercy when he arrives, or we take the fewest people possible and leave tonight.”

Footsteps in the corridor punctuated the silence as normality continued behind the door. Little did they know that Avis and Melville were but a few steps away planning for their lives.

“Fewest possible?” said Avis slowly. “Why? Cannot we take them all?”

“Avis,” said Melville gently. “We would be on the run. We cannot take all the servants with us. They would slow us down.”

“I don’t mean just the servants!” Avis said. “I meant everyone. What about the villagers? We cannot abandon them to this terrible fate!”

Melville tried not to scoff at her naivety, and reminded himself that she had never gone on patrol, or marched for days upon days.

“Only so many can be protected, only so many can be saved! You and I – we are the ones that need to survive this attack!”

At his words, Avis rose angrily.

“Really? And what makes us special, Melville? Wealth, title? That should not mean the others should be condemned to die!”

She began to pace up and down the room, whilst Melville watched her from the floor. It seemed to be her favoured method of releasing stress, but it bore down on Melville like a screw. He was becoming incensed by Avis’ lack of understanding, but tried to keep the irritation out of his voice. Rising, he followed her and stopped her in her tracks.

“Must you always pace?” He said, trying to make her smile. “Can you not stay in one place and think?”

Avis’ fearful eyes met his, and his smile faltered. She was clearly terrified. He lowered his voice.

“Avis,” he said affectionately. “I promise I will not let anything happen to you.”

“Just like you promised to marry me?” She returned, almost laughing but with sadness in every word. “Don’t make promises that you can’t keep Melville.”

Melville snorted, angry that she still refused to trust him.

“Avis, you don’t know what we’re facing!”

Avis laughed a dry and humourless laugh.

“Melville, I have been in this position before. I have waited for a marauding army to destroy everything that I know and love. I have had to plan escape routes and hide supplies and after it was all over, count the bodies. Don’t insult my intelligence by saying that I don’t know what we face.”

Avis remained in front of Melville, but avoided his eye. She took in a deep breath and stared seriously into the embers.

Melville had never felt like such a murderer in his entire life. Here he was knowing exactly what Avis had suffered and seen in her short life, and he was forcing her to undergo the exact same circumstances! It was a miracle that she survived the first time, and her chances now were even less certain.

“Avis,” he began, but she interrupted him, dragging her eyes away from the fire.

“Melville,” she said softly. “There is nothing more to be said. Tomorrow we decide. Fight or flight.”

Melville stared down at her, his beautiful intangible infuriating wife. Their faces were but inches apart. Avis’ clear eyes met Melville’s dark ones, and instinctively she knew what he was going to do. Tilting slightly down, he lowered his face until his lips were mere seconds away from hers. Unbidden, Avis moved forwards and their lips met.

Her arms left her sides and reached around his neck, entangling his hair around her tender fingers. She leaned into him. Strong arms encircled her, and held her tightly. The kiss was slow and passionate, and reached deep inside her heart wrenching her apart – but it was not pain she felt, but intense pleasure.

And as quick as it had begun, it was over. Melville pulled back, but did not release Avis. He stared into her eyes with a smile on his face, and she returned it.

“And now sleep,” he whispered.

He withdrew his arms swiftly, and without another word exited the room.

Avis sunk down onto the rugs by the hearth, stunned. She could still feel the fire of his lips upon hers, even above the heat of the flames. Never before had she been kissed in such a fashion. The memory of his delicacy and yet power burned right through her, and she shivered.

Melville lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. The day’s events passed through his mind, and he marvelled that so much could occur in such a short time. The passionate kiss that he had shared with Avis was uppermost in his memory, but he tried to quell the rising emotion to consider the problem that faced him.

William and his army. Melville could not ignore the fact that if he had been better born, or richer, with a more noble family or better friends he would not be in this dangerous situation. He turned onto his side. Nothing could be gained from counting what he did not have, he told himself. What do I have?

Hours passed and it was nearly morning until Melville made his decision. Whether or not it would be successful, it was the only thing he could do.

Although it could mean his death, it should mean Avis’ life.

Chapter Twenty Five

A faint strand of sunlight wafted into the room, and fell onto Avis’ cheek. The brightness awoke her, but it was several minutes until the events of the day before rushed into her mind. If there was sunlight pouring through into her chamber, it was later than she had hoped to rise. She sighed sadly, and pushed back the coverlet that had kept her warm. Toes curling on the rushes that lay on her floor, she fidgeted with her hair and wandered around the room, unwilling to dress and commit herself to a day in which only pain could be experienced. Today was the day that she and Melville had to decide whether or not to stay and wait for William to enter their lands, or to run…where?

There was nowhere to go, Avis reminded herself as she began to dress. Melville had offered her servants, but she had grown so used to putting on her own clothes during her time of near imprisonment with Richard that she had refused. As she carefully laced the front of her bodice, she considered the terrifying world that she was now living in. When she had been under Richard’s protection, for want of a better word, she had not been aware of what was going on in the country, but now she was a married noblewoman. The affairs of state were now her business, and they were interfering with her life in a way that she could not have predicted.

Her hands shook as she finished the careful and intricate knot. Now all she had to do was slip on her shoes, and find Melville. They had to make a decision, and they had to make it soon. Every moment counted, and could make the difference as William marched towards them, vengeance in his heart.

The cooling air lifted her spirits, and Avis tried to smile as she passed servants on her way to the Great Hall. Neither she nor Melville had told anyone else the terror that was approaching their quiet country. They did not want to cause panic, but as Avis walked into the loud room where many were breaking their fast, she could not help but look around and try to imagine these people fighting for their lives. There was Edith, still young, but eternally scarred by the wars of their land. Felix was running around with a gaggle of Anglo-Saxon and Norman children, not knowing the hatred that was felt between their elders. The Norman men that Avis was beginning to recognise on a daily basis had fought many times for their King. None of them could be thinking that they may soon be fighting against that very monarch that they had sworn to protect.